Revenge is Bittersweet
by Nalledia
Summary: Kainda of Ivarstead is a wanted criminal for taking something she hadn't known was owned. After one Legionnaire heading a small army of Hold guards burn her village to the ground and kill all the villagers in attempt to find her, Kainda swears to avenge her people, one jarl at a time. Writing challenge with SkullKing223
1. Prologue: The Speed of Pain

**A/N:** Hey hey! Writing challenge with SkullKing223; so here we go! Short one, probably the first multichapter I'll finish. Huzzah! Enjoy, and review my lovelies! You know you need to… This is the update version with the prologue.

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Fanfiction

Disclaimer:

I do not own Skyrim or any of the NPCs, Quests or game dialog. The rest of the characters are mine. Enjoy and please review!

**Prologue: The Speed of Pain**

Elenwen sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. She was seated at a large table with her most trusted Thalmor agents, Ondelomar and Ancano on either side of her in the Thalmor Embassy, just outside of Solitude. The Emperor, Titus Mede II, and a few of his Council members were also there, with recent documents of alarming events lying open in front of each of them. How had this happened? "This… is a problem," Elenwen said softly, looking up again.  
Titus frowned. "Are the Blades not behind this?"  
Ondelomar smirked from under his hood. "We have long ago destroyed those glorified sellswords."  
"But a _mage_ is behind this," Ancano added, his nasal voice ringing out. Elenwen clenched her jaw: yes, a mage from the College of Winterhold, where _he_ had been stationed. Ancano had failed her; he had been stationed there for this very reason, and he had had contact with this mage for at least eight or nine years, and Ancano had failed to see the signs. That, or whoever this was had greater skill than anticipated. It was worrying. "Is that not why _you_ are at the College?" the Emperor pressed.  
"I have done _everything_ I can under pretense of 'advisor'! Even more when opportunity arose! More obvious matters would put my position at risk and the entire ruin of a College is up in arms!"  
Titus opened his mouth to argue. Elenwen fell him in. "Enough. Arguing over what has already happened will not change it," Elenwen paged through the document again, more for something to do. "Since both Imperial-favoring and Stormcloak-favoring jarls have been killed I can only assume that another group or order is at work.:  
"Why not an individual?" a Breton man asked, looking up from the documents for the first time.  
Everyone gathered stared at him. Elenwen and Ondelomar started laughing at the same time. "A lone mage? Killing all these jarls, Imperial soldiers _and_ –"  
Elenwen cut him short with a glare. This mortal emperor didn't need to know this rogue organization had gotten to the Thalmor as well. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "A lone mage isn't capable of this. Not even an Altmer. It's too well-planned for an individual," he finished somewhat lamely. Ondelomar's eyes focused on an Imperial soldier who shifted uneasily, sweat running down his face. "What ails you so, Imperial?" Ondelomar quizzed, nodding his head at the man.  
The soldier flinched, blinking and wiping his brow before vigorously shaking his head. "N-nothing at all, Altmer," he stuttered, looking down.  
Elenwen glanced between the two. Her elf was onto something. "If you know something, you should speak. Unless you're aiding these mages, in which case you will become very well-acquainted with a special friend of mine…."  
The soldier shook his head again. "I know nothing," he spoke a little more convincingly.  
Titus narrowed his eyes at Elenwen, preparing to stand. "Very well. If this is all that is necessary, and it clearly isn't useful, I'd like to put troops out and start looking for suspicious activity."  
Elenwen looked down her nose at the emperor. "Of course," she waved a hand to let her soldiers show the emperor and his host out. Once they were gone, Elenwen asked, "What are we going to do? How can we stop this?"

* * *

A young Imperial woman sat on her bed in the College of Winterhold, pouring over books and finishing a few notes of her own. Not an inch of her room was free of some kind of intellectual clutter – maps, borrowed and bought books, old scrolls, as well as journals of her own. She stowed her current project away, sitting cross-legged on her bed, then closed her eyes. This was one of the few spells she had difficulty with, and she practiced it as often as she could. She murmured a few words, letting her magicka loose to let the spell happen. She felt the air shimmer slightly, holding onto the image she conjured in her head. The air settled, and she padded to a mirror. She smiled at her reflection. She was getting better at changing her appearance. The woman wondered briefly if she could use the spell to make her look like a man… she let the spell go, thinking of the Thalmor agent who resided in the College. If she could get _him _right, then there was nowhere she couldn't go. She closed her eyes, concentrating on his face, every detail she had seen. She opened her eyes to a close rendition of the Altmer. The Imperial smiled. Soon she would leave this place behind, soon she would start her mission, and no-one would know she had been the one to do it.


	2. 1: Born Villain

**Chapter One: Born Villain**

I've spent my life on the run. Nowhere was safe, nowhere was kind: well, there was one place, at the base of High Hrothgar, at the Throat of the World in Skyrim: Ivarstead. Ivarstead, the little village which cared for the Greybeards, the forgotten, frozen little place where everyone was welcome to dinner with anyone else. This little village is where my twin brother, Ywain, lived, and where I could always go when the world got too much for me. No-one there would turn me in, not even the guards: most of us had grown up with each other, and those who hadn't had either found a place among us quickly or left. I had left cold Skyrim for the warmth of the south when I had been allowed to choose my fate at the tender age of sixteen – I know this now, but then I had been itching to see the world, to go beyond the Seven Thousand Steps and see what lay beyond my homeland. Yes, I was an Imperial, strictly speaking, but my family had been here for generations, and we had no love for the Empire when they brought the Thalmor in and abolished Talos. He had been our god for centuries – why should he now be denied his right? But I digress. When I left for Cyrodiil, I had made a short stop in Bruma, and heard about an old fort that belonged to a forgotten order just north of it. I had gone exploring, and found the strangely curved swords of great men from ages past hanging on the walls. The names I could read most clearly were the last five to be hung, but now I cannot remember even one. I took the most beautiful two of the five, hung close together as if the people who wielded them had been close in life. How was I to know the property was off limits, and belonged to the Thalmor? I only heard they were looking for information by the time I made it to the southern-most coastal city of Anvil. I had no choice anymore: I had to run. I took refuge in an old Ayleid ruin, and by luck or even past explorers I managed to avoid all the old traps, and found a back entrance I used to escape. I kept the blades with me all the while, hoping I would find a scholar who could tell me more without being one of the Thalmor. I never did find such a scholar.

My only hope lay in Ivarstead, and even then I wouldn't take the swords with me. I would hide them somewhere, maybe high up in the Throat of the World, and wait. Wait to share my finds with someone worthy, someone whom I could trust with what I knew, what I had found. I hadn't expected the Stormcloaks to be as active as they were, and in the thick of the battle I managed to steal a horse and ride hard for my village. I was eighteen by this time, and changed. But my people welcomed me back, not asking about the bundle tied to the saddle, or why I was riding a Stormcloak horse. Ywain had been the happiest to see me, and he had only frowned when I asked for things to travel up the Seven Thousand Steps. I made the journey in less than a day, and knelt before a crevice in the mountain, carefully hidden by a boulder. I unwrapped the blades once more to see them, to remember why I was keeping them. Inspecting the names now I realized they belonged to a man and a woman; the last Septim emperor and his champion, to be exact. My eyes widened at this discovery: I had found what the Thalmor wanted to keep secret more than anything else. They couldn't have a people's champion rise and overthrow them, now could they? I had heard about this great tale, but I had never thought to carry away the most priceless pieces. I wrapped and bound the blades again, and slipped them into the crevice and covered them in snow. _I, Kainda, daughter of Albecius of Ivarstead, will return, and I will take you to the world,_ I vowed, and left. I didn't look back once.

* * *

No-one asked questions about what had happened while I was gone, or what I had done on the mountain, but every time Legionnaires came, they were deftly deflected by the Ivarstead guards and people, and I was carefully hidden. I blended in well enough, but my years of running had made me jumpy, suspicious of everyone and everything, and it had hardened me in ways I couldn't describe. My brother and I were identical twins: the same autumn hair, emerald eyes, and oval faces, and often the only way to tell us apart was by the clothes we wore and the work we did. Mind you, My brother worked the lands, and I worked in the inn. Women had to look like women in an inn, although I had gotten away with pants two or three times before. I had the night off tonight, and sat wrapped in a warm fur cloak by the riverbank, about an hour's stroll upstream from Ivarstead. "Kainda," a warm voice greeted. I looked up from my musings. The voice belonged a close childhood friend, and something of a crush I'd had. Interestingly, I still found him attractive.  
"Soldin," I said, looking up at the tall, dark-haired Nord. Soldin was a year older than my brother and I, and the three of us had been inseparable as children. "How are you, Kainda?"  
"I've been well. It's strange but good to be home again," I looked out over the river. "How are you? Where have you been?"  
Soldin shifted, moving a little closer to me. "I've been fine, and I've travelled through some of Skyrim, and got wind that you were here, so I thought I'd stay for longer to see how you were doing," he smiled at me when I looked at him again, and I returned the gesture. It was good to see him again: he had really become an attractive man in the two years we had been apart, filling the 'tall, dark and handsome' stereotype perfectly. He had the typical, broad build of a Nord, too. He seemed dressed in richer clothes than last time we saw each other… I pushed the thought aside but I still felt wary all of a sudden. "Tell me about Cyrodiil; what was it like? What did you see there?" Soldin leaned closer when he lowered his voice to ask: "I hear the Empire is looking for you. What did you do?"  
I recoiled, scowling deeply at my friend. He sounded concerned enough, but still. "What's it to you?" I asked.  
Soldin looked genuinely hurt and surprised. "Ywain said you were more suspicious since your trip south. I thought he was joking. Kainda, _what did you do_?"  
I stood up, quickly sweeping my hands over my cloak and backing away before I turned and left. "Kainda! Kainda, wait!" he called after me. I wasn't going to stop for the world.

* * *

Soldin was nowhere to be seen the next morning, and Klimmek had trouble with his joints so I offered to take supplies up to High Hrothgar in his place. I enjoyed the walk up, and this time I stopped to read each of the plaques. Not a single animal was on the path, not even the Frost Troll I was sure I had seen last time. The journey took about the same time as before, and I left the pack of supplies in the chest as Klimmek had explained. I was tempted to find the swords again, to hold them in my hands but I turned and left instead. I would have to find Soldin and apologize; after all, I hadn't meant to be rude: it was just something I had learnt in order to protect myself from the world.

* * *

The sight that greeted me when I returned to Ivarstead left me hollow and cold. Nothing was left of the village – it was burned black, still smoldering and I could feel the heat from where I stood. But I didn't go closer, whether I was too shocked to see nothing left, or a few guards from every Hold I don't know. What survivors there were, were gathered in the centre of the town. Ywain wasn't among them, but Klimmek, Gwilin, Temba Wide-Arm and Wilhelm were there, as well as two travelers from Riften. I ducked behind a tree, and watched the happenings. If worst came to pass, I could always head into Shroud Hearth Barrow. I had always been the only one who dared go near it, and no sane citizen of the Rift would follow, or any other Nord, for that matter. I could be safe inside for a short while, assuming I could get to the other side of the village undiscovered. I focused on what was happening. A Legion soldier in heavy armor was parading in front of my neighbors, explaining what would happen to them if they didn't give up my location, or what I had stolen. _I hadn't stolen anything! There hadn't been a big sign saying that the place belonged to the Thalmor! By the Nine, not even the people of Bruma remembered what it had been used for!_ I thought angrily. The travelers were the first to speak: although, they asked to be released as they had only come through Ivarstead, and were going to visit family somewhere in the west. My hand flew to my mouth as I squeezed my eyes shut against the Legionnaire gutting the man. The guards from the different Holds seemed unfazed by it. The woman traveler screamed, wailing. Then she was suddenly silent, too. I could hear Klimmek try to reason with them, and Gwilin was trying to comfort Temba, by the way his head was tilted towards her. She was paler than I had ever seen her, and Temba was a strong woman, hardly ever shaken by anything. I felt tears threaten to fall as they choked me. I watched on. They were taunted first, then questioned. Over and over again. Eventually the Legionnaire grew impatient, and ordered a guard from one of the Holds to kill Wilhelm. They cut his throat and watched him bleed out. I forced myself to watch, to remember this. Temba Wide-Arm was next, and Gwilin soon after because he had struggled, tried to fight. Klimmek was the only one left alive in this charred ruin. I raised my head just a little higher over the boulder, and I could have sworn his eyes met mine for a brief second. He blinked a little slower. _He has a plan_, I realized. I had learnt much about the barrow from him, although Wilhelm was the one with the claw… I wondered if it was still inside the inn, behind the counter. I started moving towards the barrow, staying low and moving quickly and quietly. If I could get into the inn from behind, and take the claw, I could lock myself inside a chamber I had heard about. Twice I thought they would – or even had – found me, and Klimmek was distracting them well: he told them just enough to keep him alive a little bit longer. His voice faded to a murmur, and my feet felt too hot on the black floorboards. _There!_ I grabbed the sooty sapphire claw and carefully ran out, then bolted for the barrow, just as I heard Klimmek's voice shout for the last time: "Run, Kainda!"

The doors to Shroud Hearth Barrow shut heavily behind me, and I grabbed the first discarded steel sword I saw and plunged into the barrow. At least I would clear the place, if it really was as haunted as Wilhelm had made it out to be. _I will avenge all of you_.


	3. 2: The Betrayer

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay: I wanted screenshots of the inside of White Hall. Enjoy, and review if you please!  
Update: I added a few years to Kainda's magic training, to make it a little more realistic; I'll be posting a prologue and chapter 3 in the next 2-3 weeks.

**Chapter 2: The Betrayer**

I didn't know how long I had been hidden inside the ruin, I just knew I had to get out before someone managed to find either of my escapes. It had been a day or two, probably no more than three, though. I headed out the way I had come in, taking an ancient Nordic sword as my weapon of choice, and a quiver of fifty Nordic arrows and a matching bow was slung over my back. I listened to every sound in the barrow, and finally made my way back into daylight. It was blinding, at first, but I quickly readjusted. I looked out over the ruins of Ivarstead, and felt pain throb in my heart for everything I had lost in the fire to the Jarls of all the Holds. I had started planning my revenge, and whomever stood in my way would pay dearly for it. There wasn't a person in sight, and the bodies of the travelers and my friends – family, really – were still lying in the road. The smell was the worst: I could smell the burnt bodies, the rotting flesh. On further inspection of the village and surrounds, no-one had been left alive, nothing left unburnt. _By mage-fire, too_, I noticed. _Ywain!_ I searched through the ruins, moving bodies and beams that singed and crumbled in my hands. Finally I found Ywain, crushed under a beam in the smithy. At least, the part of him I could see that wasn't burnt black. All the pain flooded back stronger than ever, and the finality of never seeing these people again hit me full force. I screamed. I screamed for all of Skyrim to hear my pain. I would have my revenge. It was long after midday already, close to dusk, and I cried for the dead. I prayed Arkay would take them to Him, and guide their souls to Aetherius, or Sovngarde, and ease their passing. I knelt among the ruins were my brother lay dead. My crying had turned to gentle sobs. "Kainda?" It was Soldin. I ignored him. He came closer anyway. "Kainda –"  
"Go away, Soldin," I whispered.  
"Kainda, I can help you. Tell me where the swords are and I can make all of this go away."  
I spun around, disgusted. _He_ was the Imperial who had killed all those people! _He_ wore Imperial armor! "You!" I hissed, my grief turning to anger as I stood. "You killed them all!"  
"Kainda, where are the swords? If you come with me, show me where they are I can stop them –"  
I shook my head, disbelieving and strode down the charred ramp. Soldin followed. "Kainda, I had no choice, and I would do it again. Where are the swords?"  
"I trusted you," I whispered.  
"Kainda," Soldin touched my arm.  
"_I trusted you!_" I screamed, pushing him away from me. I felt something break within me, coming out the way spring floods destroy dams. Soldin was flung backwards, tumbling a few times before skidding to a half and staring at me incredulously while I stared at my hands. I was glowing a faint blue, something only powerful mages did when they used a lot of magicka. I had never even managed a basic healing spell when I was younger, no matter how hard I tried. I balled my fists as I heard soldiers running up the road. "I will find you, Soldin. I will find you and I will _kill_ you for what you've done," I vowed, then turned and ran north. The only guards who would follow me were from the Rift and Falkreath, and not even _they_ were stupid enough to follow me into the wilderness at night.

* * *

I set my sights on the College of Winterhold: I would learn and master Destruction and Illusion, and learn just enough Alteration to paralyze my enemies while I slowly killed them. I would learn to use the sword from someone, just enough to hold my own. I would cut, burn, freeze and electrocute, and I would cut down any Legionnaire and Thalmor agent and citizen who dared stand in my way. Yes, I would use my new-found magic and blade skills to destroy my enemies, starting with the jarls from each Hold who marched out against peaceful little Ivarstead and killed my people. They would know someone was coming for them, and they would fear, knowing there was no escape.

* * *

I learnt to hunt and skin animals in the wilderness, and I hacked off my waist-length hair. I didn't need to be mistaken for a girl now, and binding my chest in bandages helped hide my gender. I looked enough like my brother to pass for a young boy. I made up names for myself in every settlement I stopped at, spending only as much time as I needed there. I made my way to Winterhold by the end of the year, almost six months after Ivarstead. I was stopped at the gates by an Altmer woman called Faralda, and asked to show my skills. I didn't know the spell, and I had just enough coin to buy it. I learnt it quickly, and casted it for her. She seemed impressed, and let me pass through. Sadly I couldn't hide my gender there, and I slowly let my raggedly hacked hair grow again, leveling it out just beneath my shoulders.

A year of training and looking up information on the jarls eventually got the attention of scholars, which opened me up to more recent and correct information. The end of the second year saw my abilities rocket, and I gained access to better tutors, and libraries of knowledge were at my dispense. The end of the fifth year saw my tutors take me seriously, granting me access to past and even some personal records of the jarls of all the Holds. I told them I wanted to serve as a battlemage or housecarl to one of the jarls. I was still deciding which one I liked best. I even went to the effort of making a journal, interspacing my notes with ramblings about how I desperately wanted to serve one of the jarls, comparing this one to that one and so forth. If anyone went looking, it would seem real enough. At the end of the seventh year, my tutors finally realized I was serious about my studies when I tried a higher level Destruction spell that nearly blasted all the windows out of the Hall of Elements one day. None of the others in my group could even grasp its concept, let alone have the magicka to cast it. I was quickly given to the Master trainer Faralda, and soon after my Illusion was high enough to train under Drevis Neloren, Master of Illusion. I even learnt spells that could change my appearance through many layered illusions. I struggled initially, but when I got it right… not even my masters recognized me. My Alteration progressed fairly, but I wasn't spending much time or effort into learning anything other than paralysis spells and one telekinesis spell. I acquired several unsavory contacts in my rare dealings with those outside of the College, and had a Thieves Guild member track down the oldest and most original of the maps to each of the cities – I wanted forgotten passages in and out, right to the jarl's bedroom if I could. I cross-referenced with modern maps, and explained it all away with knowing how to protect my jarl. Not that anyone really knew about my shadier dealings, or that I even owned such old maps, but my knowledge of the jarls and cities was something well-known in the College.

* * *

I took up bounty hunting for the jarl in Winterhold, gathering a good deal of coin and even title of Thane of Winterhold, with a fully furnished house and housecarl of my own to boot. I ended up signing the deed over to my housecarl: I wasn't coming back, whether my vendetta ended well or badly. It was almost a pity, really: it was a quaint place.

All in all, it took me nine years to learn everything about every jarl in every city of Skyrim, along with my magic and a few basic swordplay skills. Magic could only help so much, and one night I gathered my things and disappeared. I couldn't start in Winterhold, simply because it would cast further suspicions on me, and I wanted to be invisible for a while. I needed to kill at least two jarls before I went a little more… _public_. My plan was beginning to unfold, and the end may have been far, but I was steadily reaching for it. Gods help my enemies, for none would survive, or I would die before they could catch me.

* * *

I decided to start in Dawnstar – a prominent enough capital without the constraints of city walls, close enough to where I was coming from to be an easy target, but also far enough that I wouldn't have the blame pinned on me immediately. Mind you, if I messed it up…. Well, I'll cross that bridge when I get there. I stayed off the roads, cutting right across harsh countryside on the horse I had been given by the College. I thought over my knowledge of the town as I made my way over the snowy wasteland. Jarl Skald was an old patronizing Nord with an almost worship-obsession with Ulfric Stormcloak. Not even his own servant wanted to serve him. The people were asking for the Imperial-favoring Brina Merilis as jarl. The White Hall was his residence, and sat atop a hill, between Iron-Breaker Mine and the Dawnstar guard barracks, the inn on the other side of _that_. There were no windows, as per the standard Skyrim house to keep warmth inside, but was fairly tall with rafters for a nice hiding spot, and if I could carefully move the thatch, a way out, at the very worst. It would be difficult to climb that high. Pity it was sheltered from the south and east by mountains: it would just make it harder to get out. It was essentially one room: two stairs on either side led to servant quarters – left for the court mage and right for the housecarl. A manservant cleaned until about ten at night, and disappeared into a ground-level door to the left. The jarl slept in a room to the right, also on the ground floor. The best part about Dawnstar was that few patrols see went out so close to White Hall – who was going to kill the jarl, and get away with it? I certainly planned on it. I arrived in the coastal town about three months of fair weather traveling. It was mid-afternoon, and I could quickly pay a visit to the jarl still, and see the place with my own eyes. I left my horse in the care of a stable hand, and strode to the White Hall. Skald was outside, arguing with Brina about Legion armor. I waited until it was over, Brina graciously excusing herself and her companion while Skald scowled and stalked back inside. My heart beat a little faster. I would do this, of that there was no doubt. I just hadn't expected it to be so… _tangible_. It was here and now, not just a then and there. Doubt crept in for a second; could I really do this? It was wrong, and I shouldn't kill anyone…. But then I remembered how Soldin had killed my people – once _our_ people – and the travelers…. And my brother. I hardened my heart. I would do this. There was no other way for me now. The current jarls would all die by my hand. I walked forwards, into White Hall to see the place for myself, and know its actual presentation. Knowing a map and a sketch was one thing.

It was essentially one long room on the inside: twin stairways that looked more like ladders led to upstairs rooms on either side, a door beneath the landing of each to divide between the jarl's chambers on the right and a multi-purpose room on the left. To the front, a large circular stone wall held a warm fire, and just beyond that Skald slouched in his throne, passing snide remarks to the manservant who was cleaning the area. A court mage appeared on the left landing. _Interesting,_ I thought, walking closer to the jarl and kneeling with difficulty. I clenched my jaw before I hailed him as jarl, smoothing my features when I rose. I flattered him a little, agreed with him that the Stormcloaks would win the war and he was right to distrust the Legion for all they did to Skyrim when they had lain with the Thalmor. He was impressed with me, I could tell. But he didn't trust me. I offered him my magic to fight as his housecarl or mage as he needed me, and he had withdrawn into thought, waving me away. The court mage – I couldn't recall her name– simply stared at me when I left. I took my pack and checked into the inn, paying for the night and for food as well, and I waited. If there was one thing I would do, I would leave this very night, perhaps early in the morning. I would have to see.

* * *

I slept through some of the afternoon to prepare for the evening, and by midnight the common room had cleared and the innkeep had retired. I didn't carry anything with me, not even a few lockpicks: magic wouldn't keep a door locked for me. There weren't guard patrols by the White Hall, and the door wasn't locked either. _The gods must smile on me tonight,_ I thought, softly shutting the door behind me. Nothing moved inside. I scanned the landings and doors for movements, even people just sitting and dozing but there was nothing. I pulled my mage's hood a little lower over my head, silently moving towards the Karl's chambers. I could almost hear my own heart beat. My hands shook just a little, tingling at the anticipation of using magic. I tried the door, and it gave softly, the hinges well-oiled. The jarl was sound asleep. I closed the door, and came around to his side of the double bed. I lay a hand on his throat, mouthing a paralysis spell. This way he wouldn't even be able to whisper for help, never mind shout. Or move. My breathing got a little shallower. I was going to kill for the first time. I lay a hand on each of Skald's shoulders, feeling for my magicka and letting it flow to my hands. Then I breathed a frost spell to freeze him to death. I felt his skin grow cold beneath my hands, spreading across his body and into his bones even as the area under my hands burned from the cold. Skald became restless in his sleep, but the paralysis and my frost spell made him sluggish, tired. "Sleep, for what you did to me," I whispered, releasing more magicka as I sensed his life draining. His breathing grew labored, mine matched it. I swallowed dryly as he suddenly sighed, relaxing into death. I released my magic, taking my hands away from him. My work was done, and I wasn't sure what I thought about it. I left faster than I came, quickly gathering my things before tacking my horse and riding away. My heart was still thundering, and if it hadn't been for the cold night and the Windward Ruins I found near dawn I think I might have stayed closer to the town. The night's excitement caught up to me, though, and I was sick the second I slid of my horse. I wiped my mouth when I was done, rinsing my mouth with water from a nearby source. I liked what I had done, and killing would only get easier from now on. I made a small camp, and rested a while. I still had an hour or so to sleep before I headed for Morthal, and Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone, mystic and mother of Joric and Idgrod the Younger, all blessed or cursed with visions. I wonder if any of them will see me coming….


End file.
